Goodbye
by idreamofdraco
Summary: At the funeral of Isabella Swan, someone too beautiful to be real comes to say his final goodbye.


_Author's Note: This is my first fan fiction outside of the Harry Potter fandom, so tell me what you think! This one shot is compliant with New Moon, except Edward never came back._ D:_ I have reposted this story with minor edits._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Edward Cullen or any other character from the Twilight series (as much as I wish I did). The characters and settings you recognize belong to that genius who calls herself Stephenie Meyer. I am not making money from this story and am only using the characters for my own morbid amusement. I will return Edward somewhat depressed and suicidal._

**Goodbye  
By I Dream of Draco**

I knew as soon as I saw him standing next to her grave that all of the stories my mother had told me when I was a little girl were true. He looked so young and too beautiful to be real. His hands in his coat pocket, his mouth turned down in a frown, his eyes staring at Isabella Black's tombstone as if they could pull her out again—he painted a tragic picture against the sunny landscape. I looked around. He'd caught the eyes of half the guests but no one dared to go near him. Isabella was my mother and he was at her funeral, the least I could do was greet him and see if those stories really were true or just my mother's flights of fancy.

He turned around before I could reach him completely, making me gasp at his beauty. His gold eyes captured mine and refused to let me go—or I refused to let them go. A look of frustration crossed his face, creating wrinkles in his smooth, perfect face. It passed and he smiled at me slightly.

"You must be Bella's daughter," he said with all of the maturity of a college professor. Even though he smiled, his eyes looked pained.

"Y-yes," I stammered, too flustered to speak any more than that, blushing instead.

"Hm," he hummed as if he'd just confirmed something. He turned back to the grave.

"How did you know my mother?" I asked, finally getting my tongue to work. It was much easier to be coherent when his topaz eyes weren't directed at me as if trying to read my mind. I noticed the wind playing with his bronze-colored hair, revealing such a pale neck—as pale as his face and probably the rest of his body.

He was quiet for a few seconds. "We met very briefly but she left such an impression on me that I had to say goodbye."

I felt a flash of jealousy like I had never experienced before in my fifty-four years. What had my mother done to warrant such a boy's attention? I wanted him to be impressed by me too. I wanted him to be older or I to be younger.

"She was a fantastic woman," I commented.

"Yes, she was," he whispered. His golden eyes never left the grave once, memorizing it, I presumed.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I don't think I caught your name?"

He faced me again but didn't offer his hand. "My name is Edward Cullen."

I'd thought so.

"Really? My brother's name is Edward." I laughed slightly. Edward looked momentarily startled. "Mom would pitch a fit if anyone even thought to call him "Ed" or "Eddie." 'His name is Edward!' she said." I laughed again because his whole body had tensed. He looked like he was made of marble. A beautiful piece of art any master would be proud of.

"Eddie always hated his full name so Mom used to make up these stories about a vampire named Edward who tried to save people's lives." I forced a laugh this time. Edward looked at me in such a frightful way that all I wanted to do was get as far away from him as possible. I swallowed my fake laughter and accepted the awkward silence.

"When I was eight, I wanted to be a princess so she added to the stories, saying that Edward fell in love with a plain and clumsy girl."

"Did she have a name too?" he asked fiercely… bitterly.

His hostility frightened me for a moment. Once my heart had stopped pounding and continued its normal beating I replied, "No, sh-she never named her." I couldn't stop telling him these things. I had to see if he really was the Edward from Mom's stories.

"When Edward was eleven—I was six at that time—he wanted to dress up as Edward the Vampire for Halloween. Mom fought with him about his costume. She said Edward didn't have fangs or wear a cape. Eddie yelled something at her about how her vampires were stupid and he didn't want to be one anymore. She didn't get mad at him but I remember she was always close to tears for a long time afterwards.

"Even Dad couldn't cheer her up all the time and I could tell his emotions were on a tight leash when Mom was crying. I didn't understand why the costume was such a big deal to her."

I stared at Mom's grave, trying to blink away my tears. The funeral was over. I was supposed to be okay now, but I missed her so much already.

"What happened after that?" Edward Cullen asked so quietly I almost couldn't hear him.

"She got better," I said. "Better at hiding how sad she was. One time I saw her staring at a photograph alone in her bedroom. She hadn't seen me so I stepped out quietly, but later I went back in and found her photo album. The first few pages were filled with pictures of a younger Isabella Black, when she had been Isabella Swan, surrounded be these devastatingly beautiful people."

Edward's body tensed again. He was as still as stone and his eyes flashed angrily.

"That was when she was almost Bella Cullen, wasn't it?" I asked softly. I would have put my hand on his arm or his shoulder but I didn't dare.

He sighed. His face lost its anger and now looked stricken and guilty.

"You will never see me again after this day," he said.

"I don't doubt it."

"I did what I meant to do."

"Yes, you did."

Such a beautiful boy. My mother was lucky to have known him. I know she had been more in love with him than with my father—though she had loved him too. I could tell it by the way she'd stared at that photograph in her bedroom.

"Just tell me one thing," I said.

"Fine," he agreed in resignation. I didn't think he would give in to my questions so easily. He gave me the impression that he was always on guard, and allowing an open invitation to ask anything didn't seem like something he would do.

"If you loved each other so much, then why did she marry my father?"

He turned away from me again, a look of frustration on his face, his body stiff.

"I pushed her away. I couldn't let her join my family and destroy her humanity, her only chance at a human life. So I told her that I didn't want her and relocated out of Forks."

I wanted to put my arms around him. His face was too young to look so tragic even though I knew his appearance was an illusion to his age. I also knew that I should have been afraid of him for what I now positively knew he was, but I couldn't feel it. Instead, I felt pity for him because he would never grow older and because he'd lost the girl he loved to something he was immune to. He probably felt responsible for her death ultimately, because he'd had the means to save her from it and he'd refused to give it to her. It was what she wanted back then and throughout her whole life.

"How did she die?" he asked tersely.

"Alzheimer's disease," I replied. His head fell and his hands covered his face. "She started losing her memory when she was seventy-eight. She was eighty-six when she died." I had the feeling he knew exactly how old my mother was. He might have celebrated her every birthday in misery.

"I told her human memories fade and she told me she would never forget," he said.

"She couldn't help it," I retorted, defending her.

"I should go," he murmured suddenly.

I didn't want him to leave. I wanted to get as much of him as I could. He brought back memories of the photos I had seen of Mom when she was a teenager and in her early twenties. He'd made her so happy, I knew.

I didn't say any of this to Edward.

"It was nice meeting you, Edward Cullen."

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss…"

"Callaway. Mrs. Alice Callaway."

He met my eyes for the last time and grabbed my hand in both of his. His sudden movement startled me—it was so fast that I missed it—and then I wondered at how hard and cold his hands were. My heart raced in my chest, but was it in excitement or fear that it pounded? I didn't know.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Alice Callaway."

The next thing I knew, I was alone at Isabella Black's grave, watching as the grass swayed and settled as if someone had just run by.


End file.
